"I don't trust them. Just you." With what little strength he had, he was able to reach for her, his large gloved hand wrapping around her wrist. "Please."
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The Sugar Club can not be held accountable for how gut-wrenchingly sad this one shot is. We aren't apologizing but we aren't paying for your therapy bills. Read with caution.
Wren wrapped a towel around the broken handle of her kettle and pulled it from the element as soon as it started screaming at her. Rushing from changing without even slipping on a t-shirt over her sports bra she poured the boiled water of the mix of flowers and herbs she had combined to help her sleep. Her first night off in months and she couldn't sleep.
The nightmares lately had been killing her.
Night shifts at the hospital downtown weren't helping. She could hear the screams, see the piled-up medical supplies, and smell the copper tang of fresh blood mixed with stale vomit. Not to mention her mystery patient. Slinking in through the backdoors, demanding she stitched up wounds he couldn't explain. She knew he was someone, she just couldn't figure out who. Everything in the world had gone to shit. The city was a war zone after the S.H.I.E.L.D ships came down, everyone was a fugitive and the streets ran rampant without the threat of Captain America looming.
She brushed her long dark hair up into a ponytail before grabbing her mug and padding across her studio apartment in her socks and pajama pants. The moonlight from the clear sky shone across her dark flooring as she settled into her long thrifted velvet couch with a sigh. She stared at the clock that hung above her TV against the wall, the hands mocking her as they ticked slowly by.
She sipped at her tea and, by the time she'd finished half of it her eyelids were beginning to droop despite the manic energy swirling through her mind. She let her head roll against the back of the couch rather than disturb the longed-for feeling of tiredness and her eyes finally slid shut.
Wren jolted awake sending her half empty mug spinning across the floor as it fell from her lap. Heart hammering, she listened out for whatever had pulled her from sleep. Pounding on her front door made her jump once again and the adrenaline that coursed through her veins made her nerves tingle.
She carefully raised from her position on the couch and made small steps towards the door. Tension filled her body while she heard the pounding again. Or was it her heart that was beating like galloping horses?
"Hello" a muffled male voice came from outside of her apartment. It sounded desperate or maybe just tired? Her senses were not fully awake and she couldn't trust her gut feeling at the moment.
Wren came to a halt right in front of the wooden door before she slowly pressed her eye on the peephole to look at who was standing in the hallway.
What she saw had her rubbing her sleep filled eyes. Distorted through the small fisheye lens, the man stood — or slumped — against the wall to the right.
